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PETER and GRETCHEN 

of 

OLD NUREMBERG 
By 

VIOLA M. JONES 

1* 



Pictures By 
Helen Sewell 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

albert|whitman 

CO. 

CHICAGO 

1935 









Grateful acknowledgment is made by the author to 
THE PICTURE STORY PAPER and STORIES for 
permission to use some of the episodes in this book. 


LITHOGRAPHED IN U. S. A. 

Newman-Rudolph, 
Chicago 


€>ci A 
L -8 1935 


83928 




II 




__ 













































































































CONTENTS 


CONTENTS 

Peter and the Gingerbread Men .-.-.5 

Hansie, the Little Black Cat -10 

Wooden Men Who Live in a Clock .14 

What They Found in the Garden.20 

Easter Eggs —---—--26 

Hansie Is Lost.32 

The Cuckoo Bird’s House. ---41 

Grandpa’s Workshop.—47 

Hansie’s First Swimming Lesson .53 

A Cat For Sale---60 

Riding on the Train.-—66 

A Big Surprise.—-74 

The Goose Man Helps Out.------80 

“Come Buy! Come Buy!” -. 84 

A Pig Rides on a Merry-Go-Round-88 

How They Took the Present to Grandpa-93 



















Dedicated to 
Lucy Emetine 



PETER AND THE GINGERBREAD MEN 

P ETER HERMAN stood on tiptoes pressing his nose 
flatter and flatter against the bake shop window. 
“O-o-o-o-h!” he sniffed the sweet warm air. 

His green felt hat with a brown feather sticking up in 
back fell to the ground. Peter did not mind. His blue eyes 
stared into that steamy bake shop window. 


5 








“0-o-o-o-h!” he sniffed again, his fat cheeks puffing out 
like two round apples. 

Inside were rows and rows of brown gingerbread men. 

Every gingerbread man had white candy eyes, a white 
candy nose and a red candy mouth. 

On the gingerbread hands were white frosting gloves. 

On the gingerbread feet were black raisin shoes. 

On the gingerbread coats were green candy buttons. 

Peter wanted one of those gingerbread men more than 
anything else in the whole world. But every gingerbread 
man cost a penny. And Peter did not have a penny. 

The bakeshop door was open and Peter could not stand 
that sugary smell another minute. 

He looked at his bright blue knickers with the three 
brass buttons on the tip of each knee. Then he pulled the 
pockets of his knickers inside out. 

“Empty!” he said. Then he pulled the pockets of his 
bright blue jacket inside out. 

“Empty!” he said again. He walked up and down in 
front of the shop. 

“Mother, please give me a penny,” he called suddenly, 
running across the cobbles. 

Mrs. Herman was nearby in the street market. She was 
buying a cabbage from an old woman under a big um¬ 
brella. 

Many other old women were sitting in the street market 
under big umbrellas. 

They sold cabbages and carrots and flowers. 

They wore broad-brimmed hats tied with ribbons un¬ 
der their chins. 

They looked like toadstools, thought Peter. And maybe 
they were a hundred years old! 


“Mother, do give me a penny,” he begged. 

“What for?” asked Mrs. Herman. 

“For a gingerbread man, Mother. Vacation makes me 
hungry.” Peter was having his Easter vacation. 

Mrs. Herman put her hand down deep into her dress 
pocket. 

“Here you are,” she said, “But mind you eat that warm 
gingerbread man slowly.” 

“Oh, thank you,” he called, running across the cobbles. 
He forgot all about eating the gingerbread man slowly. 

“Hello, Peter,” said the jolly baker with eyes as blue as 
the sky. 

“One warm gingerbread man, please, sir,” said Peter. 

“Here you are!” The baker passed him a shiny ginger¬ 
bread man on the end of his long silver fork. 

Peter rose on tiptoe, taking the gingerbread man by one 
leg. Then he put the other leg in his mouth and ate it up, 
black raisin shoe and all. 

“A-a-ah!” he said, sitting on the doorstep and nibbling 
at the sweet frosting gloves. 

“Um-m!” he licked the green candy buttons on the coat. 

“O-o-o-o-h! This is the best gingerbread man I ever 
ate,” he chuckled. 

“Hi!” he called suddenly. 

Someone was walking down the street. 

“Is that you, Father?” 

“Hello, Peter,” laughed Mr. Herman showing his shin¬ 
ing white teeth. 

His face was black, his hands were black, his clothes 
were black. For Peter’s father was a chimney sweep. 

Every morning he started out from home as white and 
clean as Peter. All day long he brushed the chimneys on 


the steep roofs. Every evening he came home black all over 
from the top of his head to the sole of his boots. 

“He is as black as Hansie,” thought Peter. 

Hansie was Peter’s black kitten who had not one white 
hair. 

“What! Are you eating another gingerbread man?” said 
Father. “Some day you will turn into a gingerbread boy!” 

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Peter, offering his father a taste. 

“Thank you. I am very hungry,” said Mr. Herman, bi¬ 
ting off the gingerbread head with the white candy eyes. 

“You are home early today,” said Mrs. Herman who had 
just finished her shopping. “I have a fine cabbage for soup.” 

“Good!” answered Mr. Herman. “I am as hungry as a 
bear.” 

Peter skipped ahead with his father’s hoopleS of wire. 

Mr. Herman carried his ladder in one hand and the veg¬ 
etable basket in the other. 

Mrs. Herman carried a bunch of pussy willows. She had 
bought them from one of the old women in the market. 

So they walked to the little yellow house with the green 
shutters. In this yellow house lived Peter Herman with his 
father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Herman. They all lived 
together in the old city of Nuremberg in the old country of 
Germany. 



8 








“Empty,” he said. 


9 








































































































































































































































































































































HANSIE, THE LITTLE BLACK CAT 


M 


EOUW! Meouw!” 

Peter slept between two pink feather beds. 
Snuggling down, soft and warm, he opened one 
sleepy eye and kept the other eye tight shut. But even 
with one sleepy eye he saw a little black figure on the foot 
of his green wooden bed. 

“Hansie,” he called. 

Hansie, as black as ink with not one white hair, jumped 
on to the feather bed. 

Down he sank into the hollows. Up he climbed upon the 
humps. 

Peter felt a rough tongue on his cheek and the tickle of 













black whiskers. Reaching out a chubby hand he pulled 
Hansie under the warm feather bed. 

“Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!” heard Peter’s mother as she came 
into the room. She closed Peter’s window. Then she hung 
a clean white blouse on the back of his chair. 

“Good morning, Peter. Time to get up!” 

“Good morning, Mother.” 

“Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!” said Hansie, curling up in a round 
black ball between the feather beds. 

Peter sat up in his high bed. The floor seemed far away. 

“I smell pancakes!” he said. 

“Yes, pancakes; and be quick,” called Mrs. Herman. 
Your father is already sweeping the chimneys of Nurem¬ 
berg. Even if this is vacation time, you can’t sleep all day.” 

In a twinkling Peter was washed and dressed. 

In another twinkling he was sitting at the breakfast 
table. 

At his place was his blue plate with Mary and her little 
lamb on it. The plate had blue scalloped edges, with Mary 
very blue in the middle, and her little lamb very blue be¬ 
side her. 

“Here they come! Here they come!” he called. 

Mrs. Herman placed the steaming platter of hot pan¬ 
cakes on the red tablecloth. 

Peter liked best to eat his pancakes from his Mary-and- 
her-little-lamb plate. 

He needed more syrup. So he reached for the pewter jug. 

He tipped the jug lower and lower. 

The syrup dripped and dripped. 

The last drop fell on his pancakes. 

Crash! Bang! Clatter! 

“What now!” cried Mother, rushing in. 

Peter stared with eyes and mouth wide open! 


11 


mm 


There was the jug in the middle of his pancakes and 
syrup. 

His blue Mary-and-her-little-lamb plate was broken in 
many, many pieces. 

“Oh,” said Peter, bending down over the pieces of his 
pretty little plate. All that was left of the lamb was one ear 
and the tail. As for Mary, she was broken straight across 
her face. 

“Oh,” said Peter again. “I can never eat from my Mary- 
and-her-little-lamb plate again.” Two big tears rolled down 
his face, one on each side of his nose. 

“Well, let’s clean up first,” said Mother. 

She pulled off Peter’s white blouse all sticky with syrup. 

“Can Father mend my plate?” called Peter with his 
blouse over his head. 

“No, it is broken in too many pieces,” answered Mother. 

Then she tied a white rubber bib around his neck. It 
was so long that it came down to his knees. 

Peter watched her solemnly. 

She brushed and brushed and brushed the floor. Then 
she carried the dustpan into the kitchen. 

Peter stared. For in the dustpan was his Mary-and-her- 
little-lamb plate in a hundred pieces. 

He ran into the bedroom and climbed on top of the 
feather bed. 

“Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!” 

“Hansie,” he whispered in a black ear, “I broke my 
Mary-and-her-little-lamb plate.” 

A rough tongue licked his cheek. 

When he came slowly back to the dining room, Hansie 
was on his shoulder, black from the end of his nose to the 
tip of his long tail. 

A hot pancake on a pewter plate was waiting for Peter. 




















He saw a little black figure. 






























































WOODEN MEN WHO LIVE IN A CLOCK 


G RETCHEN’S house was next door to Peter’s house. 
She lived with her little brother Eric and her fa¬ 
ther and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Muller. 

Mr. Muller worked all day long in a factory, making 
sandals for boys and girls. 

Gretchen’s house was yellow, like Peter’s, with steep 
red roofs and high chimneys. But Gretchen’s house had 
red shutters with red geraniums in the windows while 
Peter’s house had green shutters with no red geraniums in 
the windows. 















On this warm spring morning, Gretchen was raking 
the leaves that had lain all winter over the flower bed. 

“Gretchen,” called Mrs. Muller from the kitchen win¬ 
dow, “will you mind Eric for me? Iam making pies.” 

“Yes, Mother, send him out,” answered Gretchen, 
standing up straight and tossing her brown braids about. 

Out toddled Eric with the ruffle of his long blue dress 
flapping about his legs. 

“Wheel” shouted Eric, running after the little brown 
leaves whirling in the air. 

As fast as Gretchen raked, the wind tossed the leaves 
this way and that way, high up into the air. 

“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!” There was Peter climbing on top 
of the fence between Gretchen’s house and his house. 
“Come on over, Gretchen,” he shouted. 

“I can’t,” called Gretchen, “I have to mind Eric.” 

Peter balanced himself on the fence, first on one foot, 
then on the other foot. 

“Well, let’s take Eric for a ride, then,” he said. 

“Oh, let’s.” Gretchen ran to the woodshed with her rake. 

“If we hurry,” called Peter, “we can get to the market 
by twelve o’clock.” 

“Oh, do let’s hurry,” called Gretchen as she ran. 

For at twelve o’clock, the big clock in the church 
steeple struck twelve times. And the little wooden doors 
in the clock opened all by themselves. And out of those 
little wooden doors came seven little wooden men. 

Gretchen put Eric in his cart with the high basket sides 
that stood up straight above his head. 

“Meouw!” A little cat, black from the tip of his nose 
to the end of his tail, shot across the grass. He squeezed 
in between the reeds of the high basket sides of Eric’s 
cart. “Purr! Purr!” he said and licked Eric’s cheek. 


Peter took hold of one side of the handle of the cart. 
Gretchen took hold of the other side of the handle. Then 
bump, bump, bump, they went over the cobbles. 

Hansie’s black whiskers curled as if he were smiling. 
He rubbed his black head against Eric’s hand. “I am so 
glad they let me come along,” he said. 

Into the market they raced. The cart stopped beside 
the old women who sat under the big umbrellas. 

One old woman had cabbages to sell. 

Another old woman had flowers to sell. 

Another old woman had wooden bowls to sell. 

Peter looked up at the steeple. 

“We’re in time,” he said. “I’m glad.” 

Hansie jumped to Peter’s shoulder. He sat very still. 

Eric stood in his cart and stared up at the sky. 

“Eric, you are not looking in the right place,” said 
Gretchen. “Look up at the old clock in the steeple.” 

“Look, Eric, away up high! In a minute something will 
happen!” cried Peter. 

While Eric was trying to find the steeple, the old clock 
began to strike. 

“Ding-dong-ding-dong! 

Ding-dong-ding-dong! 

Ding-dong-ding-dong! ” 

Twelve o’clock! 

The doors in the clock began to open all by themselves. 

Now the children could see the Emperor. 

He sat on his throne, very grand and very wooden. 

On one side of his throne stood a wooden herald with a 
long trumpet. 

On the other side of his throne stood another wooden 
herald with a long trumpet. 

The Emperor raised his sword. 


Twelve o'clock! 







17 



















The heralds lifted their trumpets. 

Left! Right! Left! Right! From behind the Emperor 
marched seven wooden men. 

Each wooden man made a low wooden bow to the grand 
wooden Emperor. 

Then the seven wooden men marched back into the 
church tower. 

Peter and Gretchen stood staring at the clock. 

Even Eric had found the steeple. 

Even Hansie did not move one black hair. 

And all the old women were looking up from under 
their big umbrellas. 

Then the doors closed all by themselves and shut in 
the little wooden men. 

“Oh, I wish they would do it again,” Peter said. 

“Well, here you are,” called Grandpa Herman, striding 
across the cobblestones with Mrs. Herman. “Twelve 
o’clock and sausages! Come along to The Little Bell.” 

“The Little Bell!” Peter and Gretchen danced up and 
down for joy, and Hansie nearly fell off Peter’s shoulder. 

“I’ll take Eric shopping with me,” said Mrs. Herman, 
putting him in his cart and going over to buy from the 
old women who sat under their umbrellas. 

Gretchen tied her sunbonnet on her arm and dropped 
Hansie into it. With his black head peeping over the frill 
he rode along the narrow crooked streets until they reached 
the little house with the bell hanging outside the door. 

“There it is,” shouted Peter. “Maybe the bell will ring 
now as it rang long ago when the sausages were ready.” 

“Um-m-m! What a good smell!” Gretchen sniffed and 
sniffed. “Hear the sausages! They are sizzling on the 
kitchen fire.” 

“Here is a good table,” said Grandpa, sitting do wn at a 



table covered with a red and white checkered table cloth. 

“Good day, Mr. Herman.” The fat jolly cook hurried 
in, wiping his hands on his white apron. 

“Good day, Mr. Cook,” answered Grandpa, “bring us 
sausages, and some milk for our black Hansie.” 

Mr. Cook hurried to the kitchen, his white cap bobbing 
up and down. 

“Here they are,” he said, bringing platters filled with 
fat little sausages, hot and brown. 

“Now for a feast,” said Grandpa. “The sausages are 
steaming.” 

“Here are the rolls,” said Mr. Cook, bringing jolly little 
rolls like fat little men, with fat round bodies, fat round 
heads, and fat round arms and legs. 

“Here is the milk,” he said again, bringing in a pitcher 
of milk that he poured into a blue saucer on the floor for 
Hansie. 

The children and Grandpa ate and ate and Hansie lap¬ 
ped and lapped his milk. 

“How many have you had, Gretchen?” asked Peter. 

“Six. How many have you had?” 

“Eight,” answered Peter. 

“How many have you had, Grandpa?” asked Gretchen. 

“Ten.” 

“Oh! Grandpa beat,” they shouted, clapping their 
hands. 

“Twenty-four sausages altogether,” counted Gretchen, 
as they all got up from the table. 

“Good-bye, Mr. Cook! The sausages were fine,” they 
called as they went out of the door of The Little Bell, and 
Hansie said, “Purr! Purr!” 

Mr. Cook waved his white cap. His bald head was as 
rosy as his fat round face. 


19 


WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE GARDEN 

ETER’S grandfather lived in a little brown house that 
was built on a bridge. Many ducks lived on the river 



that flowed under the bridge. Sometimes the ducks 
sat in the sun on his porch. 

Today, Grandpa came to take Peter for a walk. He 
stood at Peter’s gate. His cheeks were very red and his 
eyes were twinkling blue. His white beard was blowing in 
the breeze. 

“Here I am, Grandpa,” said Peter. “I am all new! My 
green knickers are new, my green hat is new, my brown 
jacket is new.” 

“Well, well! You are too dressed up to see Hansie, eh?” 
asked Grandpa. 

For there was Hansie, black all over, with not one white 
hair, stepping slowly behind Peter. 

He was being left at home. He climbed on top of the 
gatepost and there he sat. His long black tail curled over 
his black toes. He stared after Peter and Grandpa. 




21 
























Peter only tossed his head. That brown feather sticking 
up in the back of his green hat had to be shown oflj. 

“Let’s go to the river and see the ducks,” said Peter. 

Peter knew all the ducks that swam in the river, under 
Grandpa’s house on the bridge. Beauty was his favorite. 
He had a bright green head that sparkled in the sun. 

“There is Beauty,” said Peter. 

Dip! The green head went under the water! Beauty was 
upside down with his orange-webbed feet pushing the wa¬ 
ter hard. 

When the fat fluffy duck was right side up again, there 
was a long worm swinging from his mouth. 

Peter ran down to the edge of the water. 

“Coo! Coo! Coo!” Some gentle pigeons were sunning 
themselves on the bank. They jerked their heads this way 
and that way, preening their rose-gray wings. 

“Flap! Flap! Flap!” The bold ducks waddled out of 
the water on their orange-webbed feet. 

“Flap! Flap! Flap!” Beauty lifted his big wings in the 
air and rushed about among the gentle pigeons. 

“Twitter! Twitter! Twitter!” The frightened pigeons 
fluttered here and there. 

“Bow-wow-wow!” A little brown dog trotted down the 
bank. His tail curled over his back and his pink tongue 
showed between his white teeth. 

“Bow-wow-wow!” The little brown dog ran toward 
those proud ducks as fast as his legs could carry him. 

Now those bold ducks were more frightened than the 
gentle pigeons, but not a sound did they make. One by one 
they waddled into the water on their orange-webbed feet 
and silently swam away. 

Then the little brown dog trotted up the bank again 


with his tail curled over his back and his pink tongue 
showing between his white teeth. 

“Coo! Coo! Coo!” The gentle pigeons went on preening 
their rose-gray wings. 

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Peter, standing near the wa¬ 
ter. 

“Come on, Peter,” called Grandpa who had already 
started up the river bank. “If we want to reach Ear Man 
Fountain today, we must be off.” 

“I have not seen Ear Man Fountain in a long, long 
time,” said Peter, running up the bank. 

They hurried over the cobbles and along the narrow 
streets. 

“Hello, Ear Man,” shouted Peter. 

There sat a fat little man wearing a broad-brimmed 
hat, with water rushing from both his ears. He really was 
a fountain in the sunny yard of an old hospital. 

Peter took a drink from the left ear. “Can you hear 
me?” he shouted in the left ear. 

Then he took a drink from the right ear. “Can you hear 
me?” he shouted in the right ear. 

Grandpa lit his pipe with the long curved stem. Then 
he stretched out to rest in the sunny yard of the hospital. 

Peter took off his green hat with the brown feather 
sticking up in back. Then he sat very still and waited. 

“How old is this hospital, Peter?” asked Grandpa. 

“Four hundred years old.” 

“Who gave this hospital to Nuremberg?” asked Grand¬ 
pa again. 

“Konrad.” 

“And who was Konrad?” 

“He was a king,” answered Peter. 


“One day, four hundred years ago,” Grandpa began, 
“Konrad was in his beautiful garden. He fell asleep. He 
dreamed that he saw a bright light. But when he walked to 
the light, it disappeared. And in his dream he saw many 
jewels and at his feet were pieces of gold. He touched the 
treasure and—” 

“It disappeared,” finished Peter. 

“Yes,” said Grandpa. “In his dream he gathered leaves 
and piled them on this magic spot in his garden. He did 
not want to lose it. Then he went to hunt for a spade. 
With the spade he dug under the pile of leaves. 

“Dirt, dirt, dirt, was all he found. So he gave it up.” 

“But that was all a dream,” said Peter. 

Grandpa Herman stopped to take a puff from his pipe 
with the long curved stem. 

Peter ran to take a drink from the left ear of the fat 
man under the broad-brimmed hat. 

Then he took a drink from the right ear of the fat man 
under the broad-brimmed hat. 

“Now I’m ready for the Wide Awake Half, Grandpa,” 
said Peter, sitting down again on the grass. 

Grandpa Herman put his pipe on the ground. 

“The very next day Konrad was walking in his gar¬ 
den.” 

“Wide awake,” interrupted Peter. 

“Yes, wide awake. Suddenly he saw a pile of leaves. 
Then he ran for his spade. He dug and dug under the pile 
of leaves. At last his spade struck something hard.” 

“The chest,” shouted Peter. 

“Then he pulled and pulled. At last the chest came out 
of the deep hole. He opened the heavy lid. There were 
jewels of every color and size. There were also many, many 
pieces of shiny gold.” 






“And a letter, too,” added Peter. 

“What did the letter say?” asked Grandpa. 

“This treasure belongs to the man who finds it. He can 
use it as he wishes.” 

“What did Konrad do with it, Peter?” 

“He built this hospital for sick people and poor people. 
Then the men of Nuremberg built Ear Man Fountain be¬ 
cause they liked Konrad.” 

Grandpa Herman solemnly knocked the ashes from his 
pipe. 

So Peter ran to Ear Man Fountain. 

He took a drink out of the left ear of the old man with 
the broad-brimmed hat. “Good-bye,” he shouted in the 
left ear. 

Then he took a drink out of the right ear of the old man 
with the broad-brimmed hat. “Good-bye,” he shouted in 
the right ear. 



25 






EASTER EGGS 


I T was the day before Easter. Peter and Gretchen stood 
in the little candy shop. They could not decide. 

“How much have you to spend, Gretchen?” 

“One penny. How much have you to spend, Peter?” 
“One penny.” 

The candy shop was filled with Easter goodies. On the 
glass counter was a row of chocolate animals and birds. 
The swan, her head upon her breast, was covered with sil¬ 
ver. The camel’s chocolate hump was wrapped in red. The 
blue bunny, shiny and saucy, sat on his hind legs. 

“How much do these cost?” Gretchen asked. 

“Five pennies,” said the shopkeeper, rolling white pep¬ 
permint eggs in tissue paper. 

Gretchen shook her head. 

Peter walked up and down. 

On the table in the center of the shop were cardboard 
boxes with pictures on the covers. 

“Look at Mrs. Bunny!” called Peter, picking up one box. 
“She is holding an umbrella over her head.” 

“This one is prettier,” Gretchen pointed to a picture of 


26 




Mr. and Mrs. Bunny pushing Baby Bunny in a carriage. 

“These cost too much, Gretchen.” 

“Yes, I suppose so. If we only had one more penny!” 

Gretchen turned to another counter. There, huddling 
together like little brothers, were fuzzy yellow chicks and 
white flannel ducks. There, too, were brown bunnies sit¬ 
ting on their hind legs, brown bunnies standing on four legs 
and brown bunnies pushing wheelbarrows. 

“Maybe we’ll get some tomorrow,” said Gretchen. 

“Maybe we will,” said Peter. 

Just then the candy maker came up the stairs from the 
kitchen. His white apron flapped up and down as he 
rushed across the shop. 

Gretchen and Peter ran to the counter where the candy 
maker put the tray of fresh candy. Chocolate bunnies pull¬ 
ing wheelbarrows filled with eggs! 

“Oh, goody, goody!” they cried, clapping their hands. 

“How much are these?” 

“Two pennies,” answered the busy candy maker. 

Gretchen looked at Peter and held up her penny. 

Peter looked at Gretchen and held up his penny. 

“We can divide,” she whispered. Her eyes were dancing. 

“So we can.” Peter grinned from ear to ear. 

Out they walked with the chocolate bunny pulling a 
chocolate wheelbarrow filled with colored sugar eggs. 

“You take the first bite, Gretchen.” 

She bit off the head. “A-a-a-ah! Now you, Peter.” 

He bit off a wheel. “A-a-a-ah!” 

So they nibbled the chocolate bunny all the way home. 

The next morning Peter had been awake only a few 
minutes when he heard the little brown wooden bird in the 
little brown wooden house on the kitchen wall sing: 





“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

Seven o’clock! 

He jumped down from his high green bed. 

“Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!” 

“Hello, old Hansie,” Peter called to the little cat who 
was waiting patiently on the rug. 

“This is Easter morning, Hansie, and we must hunt for 
our Easter eggs,” he said, pulling on a red striped sock. 

Hansie, black all over, with not one white hair, jumped 
at the toe of Peter’s sock and caught it in his black paws. 

“Oh, Hansie, we are in a hurry. We have to find our 
eggs. This is Easter morning. Can’t you hear the bells?” 

Sure enough. The church bells were ringing. 

“Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” 

Easter morning! Easter morning! Easter morning! 

Peter pulled on his blue knickers with the three brass 
buttons at the tip of each knee. 

“Come on, Hansie,” he called. 

And off they scampered to hunt Easter eggs. 

“Hi, Hansie,” he cried as he spied a green egg in a bas¬ 
ket in the corner of the pantry. 

“And here’s another,” he shouted as he pulled out a gold 
egg from behind the curtain. 

“And here’s another, Hansie,” he called as he picked up 
a yellow egg from the window sill. 

“One! Two! Three!” he counted, dropping the green egg 
and the gold egg and the yellow egg into his basket. 

Then he ran to the kitchen. 

“Hansie, look!” he screamed to the excited little cat. 

Hansie did look and sniff and sniff with his pink nose. 

The oven door of the big china stove was open. In the 





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/% £/ie oven sat a warm brown bunny. 










29 

























































































oven sat a warm brown bunny. He was made of sweet 
bread dough. 

Peter smacked his lips. He lifted the bunny carefully 
and felt of his two pointed ears. Then he poked the candy 
eyes. 

And last of all he rubbed his hand over the hard red egg 
baked in the bread bunny. 

“See Hansie, it is a real egg,” he called, “like the one I 
have for breakfast.” 

“Pur-r-r! Pur-r-r!” answered Hansie. 

Peter ran to the table and stood the bunny beside his 
plate. 

Then he skipped upstairs two steps at a time and ran 
into his mother’s bedroom. 

He peeped into her mending basket. 

“A purple egg, Hansie!” he cried. 

He lifted the lid of the linen chest. 

“Oh! Here is an egg with PETER painted on it in 
gold letters.” 

“Breakfast! Breakfast!” Mr. Herman called from the 
foot of the stairs. Today he was as white and clean as Pe¬ 
ter himself. 

Peter ran downstairs with the six eggs in his basket and 
climbed into his chair at the table, too excited to eat. 

“Peter, please pass me the hot cross buns,” said Mr. Her¬ 
man. 

Peter looked up at his father and saw something sticking 
out of his pocket. 

“The swan!” he cried and nearly fell out of his chair. 
For there was the chocolate swan, wrapped in silver, the 
very one that he had seen in the candy shop. 

Rat-a-tat-tat! 

Rat-a-tat-tat! 


rpet 


30 









A knock on the door! 

“Who’s there?” called Peter as his mother opened the 
door. 

“Good Easter Morning,” said Gretchen and Eric. 

“Good Easter Morning,” answered Mr. Herman, Mrs. 
Herman and Peter Herman all together. 

“Squeak! Squeak!” 

Eric held up a fuzzy yellow chicken. 

“Good Easter Morning, Eric,” said Mr. Herman, Mrs. 
Herman and Peter Herman all together. 

“Did you get a big bunny, Gretchen?” said Peter 

“Oh yes,” laughed Gretchen, “but mine has a yellow egg 
baked in it.” 

“Meouw! Meouw! Meouw!” 

Hansie was too hungry to wait any longer. 

“Well, you shall have your milk,” said Mrs. Herman, put¬ 
ting a saucer of milk on the floor near the wood basket. 

Hansie ran toward it, his black tail waving. 

Eric stretched out on the floor. He watched Hansie’s 
pink tongue lap, lap, lap, until every drop of milk was gone. 

Suddenly Hansie stood still and stared. Not a hair 
moved. 

Then he shot through the air and pounced on something 
bright and shining in the wood basket. 

Out of the wood basket this bright and shining thing 
rolled. 

His black paw sent it flying across the floor like a sil¬ 
ver streak. 

Hansie had found his Easter egg! 

A pigeon’s egg, hard boiled, and painted silver. 

Just the right size and color for Hansie, black all over 
with not one white hair. 




HANSIE IS LOST 


P ETER sat on the doorstep of his yellow house with 
the green shutters. “OO-oo-ooh!” he sighed. 

He dug his heels deep down in the pebbles and 
dirt. He had never felt so lonely in his whole life. 

“Where can he be?” he sighed again. He thought and 
thought. 

Bang! went the gate of the yellow house next door! 
Gretchen stepped out. Her starched pink dress had not a 
wrinkle in it and her white puffed sleeves stood out like 
balloons. The short green apron tied round her waist flip¬ 
ped this way and that way. 

“Hello, Peter!” she called. 

Peter did not answer. 

“Hello, Peter!” she called again. 

Peter did not answer. 

“Peter, are you sick?” she asked. 

“Sick?” Peter looked up. “No. Much worse. Something 
terrible has happened, Gretchen.” 


32 






“0-o-oh!” Gretchen’s brown eyes opened wide with 
wonder. “Whatever is the matter?” 

“Hansie’s lost.” 

“Hansie lost? Well, let’s find him.” 

“Peter shook his head. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve 
called everywhere.” 

“But Peter, he’s somewhere.” 

“Well, let’s find ‘somewhere’ then,” said Peter. 

“Come on,” said Gretchen. 

“Where are you two going?” called Mrs. Herman who 
was pushing her pink feather beds out of the window for 
an airing. 

“To find Hansie,” they called. 

“I’ll have his milk waiting for him,” answered Mrs. Her¬ 
man, poking her feather beds. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Herman,” called Mrs. Muller, who 
was pushing her green feather beds out of the window for 
an airing. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Muller,” answered Mrs. Herman. 
“The children have gone down town to hunt for Hansie.” 

“Hansie lost!” cried Mrs. Muller, poking her feather 
beds. 

Peter and Gretchen ran around the corner into the cob¬ 
blestone alley. 

“Hansie, Hansie!” they called as they peeped under high 
stoops and under low stoops. 

“Have you lost something?” asked a fat vegetable man 
as he pushed his wheelbarrow of cabbages down the street. 

“Yes, we’ve lost our black cat, Hansie,” answered Peter. 
“Have you seen him?” 

“A black cat?” The vegetable man stopped. He 
scratched his head and thought. 


“Yes,” added Gretchen, “black from the tip of his nose 
to the end of his long tail.” 

“A black cat?” The vegetable man scratched his 
head again. 

“No. I saw a brown dog, but no black cat.” 

The children ran around another corner. 

There stood the toy shop,the candy shop and the bake 
shop, all in a row. 

Peter and Gretchen hurried into the toy shop. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Brown,” they called to the little 
old lady with the wrinkled face who stood behind the 
counter in the toy shop. 

“Have you seen our Hansie?” 

“Hansie? Bless my heart! No,” answered Mrs. Brown 
in her high squeaky voice. “Is he lost?” 

“Yes, he is lost,” Gretchen said. 

Peter nodded his head and nodded his head. 

“I am very sorry. I hope you find Hansie,” Mrs. Brown 
called as they skipped out of the door. 

Peter and Gretchen hurried into the candy shop. 

“Good morning, sir,” they called to the candy man who 
was filling his glass jars with peppermint sticks. 

“Have you seen our Hansie?” 

“What?” He put a hand behind his good ear, for he was 
very deaf. “Speak a little louder.” 

“HAVE-YOU-SEEN-OUR-HANSIE?” Peter screamed. 

“Hansie! Bless my heart! No,” answered the candy man 
in his harsh voice. “Is he lost?” 

Gretchen nodded her head and nodded her head. 

Peter nodded his head and nodded his head. 

“I am very sorry. I hope you find Hansie,” the candy 
man called as they skipped out of the door. 

Peter and Gretchen hurried into the bakeshop. 


34 






■ *y 'W; 1 . 


“Good morning, sir,” they called to the baker with eyes 
as blue as the sky. 

“Have you seen our Hansie?” 

“Hansie! Bless my heart! No,” answered the baker in 
his loud voice. “Is he lost?” 

“Yes, he is lost,” they nodded. 

“I am very sorry. I hope you find Hansie. Here take 
these for luck,” he said, handing them two warm ginger¬ 
bread men on the end of his long silver fork. 

“Oh, thank you,” they cried, hurrying down the steps. 

Nibble! Nibble! Nibble! Away went those gingerbread 
men as they ran to Grandpa’s little house on the bridge. 

But they did not taste so good this morning. 

Their little cat, black all over with not one white hair, 
was missing. 

Grandpa sat on his porch over the river smoking a pipe 
with a long curved stem. 

“Hi!” Peter and Gretchen waved. 

“Hi!” answered Grandpa Herman. “Have you come to 
lunch?” 

“No! No!” they cried. “Hansie is lost.” 

“What! Hansie lost! A-ha!” Grandpa said, stroking his 
long white beard. “Where have you looked for him?” 

“Everywhere,” answered Peter. 

“We’ve hunted under high stoops and under low stoops,” 
said Gretchen. 

“We asked the vegetable man,” said Peter. 

“And Mrs. Brown, and the candy man and the baker,” 
added Gretchen. 

“The baker gave us gingerbread men,” said Peter. 

“For good luck,” said Gretchen. “But we haven’t found 
Hansie yet.” 

Grandpa knocked the ashes out of his pipe. 


35 


“Well, let’s take a row down the river. He may be tak¬ 
ing a nap in the sun on the bank.” 

“Oh, Grandpa! Goody! Goody!” they cried, clapping 
their hands. 

RED WING was painted in red letters on the side of 
the boat. Red cushions were on the seats. 

Gretchen sat in the bow of the boat, all by herself. 
Peter sat beside Grandpa. 

He rowed with one red oar and Grandpa rowed with the 
other red oar. They kept close to the bank of the river. 

“There’s Beauty,” said Gretchen softly. 

“Sure enough,” whispered Peter. 

Paddle! Paddle! Paddle! Beauty’s green head led the 
long row of ducks. 

Then dip! Beauty’s green head went under the water 
and she was upside down! 

“Could Hansie turn into a duck?” asked Gretchen. 

“Oh, Gretchen! Of course not,” answered Peter. 

“Watch out for Hansie along the bank, Gretchen,” said 
Grandpa. 

Gretchen stared at every bush and tree on the left bank 
of the river. 

“He is not anywhere, Grandpa,” she sighed. 

“We shall never see him again,” said Peter. 

“Maybe he is hiding under the bridge,” said Grandpa 

They rowed under the cool stone bridge. 

There they rested a moment. 

Grandpa stared and stared in every nook and cranny 
of the old stone bridge. 

Gretchen stared and stared in every nook and cranny 
of the old stone bridge. 

Peter stared and stared in every nook and cranny of 
the old stone bridge. 


But no little cat was there. 

Gretchen looked down into the water. 

“Maybe Hansie is drowned,” she almost sobbed. 

“We shall never see him again.” Peter’s big blue eyes 
were shiny with tears. 

“Now keep close to the right bank,” said Grandpa. 
“Watch out, Gretchen. Row hard, Peter.” 

Gretchen stared at the sunny green bank. 

Any little cat would have liked to take a nap there. 

But no Hansie could she see. 

They got out of the boat near Grandpa’s house. 

“Goodbye, Grandpa,” they called, running up the bank. 

“Goodbye, children,” he answered as he tied RED 
W I N G to its stake. “Keep on hunting.” 

Peter and Gretchen ran over the cobblestones into the 
market. 

The old women were sitting under their umbrellas. 

Their vegetables were on the ground beside them. 

“Have you seen a black kitten with not one white 
hair?” Gretchen asked. “We have lost our Hansie.” 

The old woman with asthma shook her head. “No, I 
have not seen Hansie.” Then she turned to another old 
woman who sat next to her under her big umbrella. 

“Have you seen a bJack kitten with not one white 
hair?” she wheezed. “They have lost their Hansie.” 

That old woman went on sorting her carrots and shook 
her head. “No, I have not seen Hansie.” Flop, flop, went 
her broad brimmed hat that was tied with long ribbons 
under her chin. 

Over the cobblestones they ran to an old low wooden 
house in a side street. 

A big wooden bull sat on top of the house. Gretchen 
and Peter had named him Jerry. He was hundreds and 
























hundreds of years old. They always stopped to say “Hel¬ 
lo, Jerry!” Today they stopped, too. 

“Meouw! Meouw!” 

The children stared. 

“Meouw! Meouw!” 

“Hansie!” they cried. 

For there was Hansie curled up on Jerry’s broad back. 

“Hansie! How did you ever get so far from home?” 
called Peter. First with one black paw, then another black 
paw, he stepped along Jerry’s broad back and out on the 
big horns. Then he jumped into Peter’s arms. 

Gretchen squeezed and squeezed the little black cat. 
“You dear old Hansie!” 

“Purr! Purr!” answered Hansie, snuggling up against 
Peter’s blue jacket. 

Peter and Gretchen ran to Grandpa’s house on the 
bridge. 

Grandpa was sitting on his porch over the river. 

“Here he is!” they shouted. 

Hansie twitched one black ear, and then he twitched 
another black ear. “Hello, Grandpa Herman,” he seemed 
to say. 

“Where did you ever find that little black cat?” called 
Grandpa. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted, and ran to the mar- 
kct. 

“We found him,” they called to the old woman with 
asthma. 

“Where?” she wheezed. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted. 

“Good! Good!” she wheezed again. 

“They found him on Jerry’s back,” she told the old 
woman who sat next to her under her big umbrella. 


“Good! Good!” she cried. 

Then all the old women nodded and nodded to each 
other under their big umbrellas. 

Peter held Hansie high in the air. He waved his black 
tail and purred. 

“We found him,” they called to the baker who stood in 
the door of his bakeshop. 

“Where?” he asked, with his blue eyes twinkling. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted. 

“Good! Good!” he cried and waved his long silver fork. 

“We found him,” they called to the candy man who 
stood in the door of his candy shop. 

“Where?” he asked and put his hand behind his good 
ear. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted. 

“Good! Good!” he cried and clapped his hands. 

“We found him,” they called to Mrs. Brown who stood 
in the door of her toy shop. 

“Where?” she asked in her high squeaky voice. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted. 

“Good! Good!” she cried and waved her apron. 

Mrs. Herman saw the children coming. She opened the 
door of the yellow house with the green shutters. 

“We found him,” they called. 

“Where?” she asked. 

“On Jerry’s back,” they shouted. 

“Welcome home, Hansie,” said Mrs. Herman. 

“Purr! Purr!” said Hansie. 

Then he lapped the milk from his saucer on the floor 
as if he were starved. 


40 


THE 


CUCKOO BIRD’S 


HOUSE 



C UCKOO! Cuckoo !* 

Peter looked up from his marbles on the kitchen 
floor where he was playing beside the big china tile 
stove that was making him so warm and drowsy. 

“Hello, Cuckoo,” he called to the brown wooden bird 
who stepped out of his brown wooden house on the wall. 

This wooden house had hung on the kitchen wall as 
long as Peter could remember. Years and years ago, Grand¬ 
pa Herman carved Cuckoo and his house out of wood. 
Then he put a clock in the little wooden house. 

When Peter was helping his mother in the morning, he 
heard: 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 


41 































It was time for him to go outdoors to play with Gret- 
chen. 

“Hi, Cuckoo!” he always answered. Then Cuckoo went 
back into his house and his little wooden door closed all 
by itself. 

When Peter looked at his picture book in the afternoon, 
he heard: 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

It was time for him to bring in the wood for the eve¬ 
ning fire. 

“I’ll get it, Cuckoo,” he always answered. Then Cuckoo 
went back into his house and his little wooden door closed 
all by itself. 

When Peter was sitting on his father’s knee at night 
hearing a story, he heard: 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

It was time for him to go to bed. 

“O-o-o-oh, Cuckoo, you are interrupting my story,” he 
always answered. 

Then Cuckoo went back into his house and his little 
wooden door closed all by itself. 

Then Father pulled the heavy chains that hung down 
from the brown wooden house. 

“Is Cuckoo wound now, Father?” Peter asked every 
evening. 

“Yes,” Father always answered in his quiet way. 

Every night as long as Peter could remember, Father 
had wound the cuckoo clock. 

This time when Peter heard “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” he 
looked up from his marbles on the kitchen floor. 






“ Well , 1 have my housework to do.” 


43 




































































- ■ : V V ■ ' ■ pi 




Cuckoo stood in the doorway of his house. He stared 
straight at Peter. 

“Hello, Cuckoo/’ said Peter as he had often done be¬ 
fore. 

“Hello,” Peter thought he heard in a shrill thin voice. 

His blue eyes grew big with wonder. 

He had often wished that Cuckoo would come down to 
play with him. 

“Hello, Peter,” he heard Cuckoo say as he flew down to 
the floor and perched on one of his marbles. 

“How-do-you-do, Cuckoo,” answered Peter in his best 
company manners. 

“You do not come up to play with me and so I will come 
down to play with you,” said Cuckoo. 

“I have often wanted to go inside your little house, but 
I was too big to go through the door,” Peter answered po¬ 
litely. 

“Oh, you only imagine that, Peter,” laughed Cuckoo, 
balancing himself on top of the marble and rolling it 
across the floor. 

“Come up now.” 

Before Peter could blink an eye he found himself sit¬ 
ting inside the little wooden house away up on the kitchen 
wall. He stuck his head out of the door and looked down 
on the kitchen stove, the wood basket, and his marbles on 
the floor. 

“Oh, Cuckoo!” he laughed, holding on to his sides, “ev¬ 
erything in the kitchen is so tiny. It looks like a doll’s 
house.” 

Cuckoo brought out a thimble of seeds from his closet. 

“Will you have some, Peter?” 

Peter helped himself to a few seeds and sat beside 
Cuckoo on a little bench. There they sat nibbling seeds in 

: : .. . 






*pp 


Cuckoo’s neat house. Peter cracked them between his 
white teeth. Cuckoo snapped them with his beak. 

“I wondered what you did in here alone.” Peter helped 
himself to a few more seeds. 

“Well, I have my housework to do. Then I play my 
game of ninepins alone. It would be lots more fun if I had 
a playmate. I am really very lonely.” 

“Gretchen is my playmate,” Peter put in eagerly. “Do 
you know her?” 

“Yes, I know Gretchen.” Cuckoo tossed his feather head 
to one side. “I often see her in the kitchen with you.” 

“Do you know Hansie?” asked Peter. 

“Yes, I know Hansie, too. He nearly pulled down my 
house by jumping on the chains.” 

“What do you do when Father pulls the chains at night 
and winds you up?” Peter asked. 

“I put my head under my wing and hop into my sugar 
bowl. Then I don’t hear the racket. Ask your father to oil 
those chains, Peter.” 

“He will do that tonight when he comes home from 
sweeping the chimneys,” promised Peter. “Can we do any¬ 
thing else to make you comfortable?” 

Cuckoo brought his dustpan and brush from its corner 
and cleaned up the seeds from the floor. 

Then he sat on the footstool at Peter’s feet and shook 
his head. His wings hung down and his feathers drooped. 

“Yes, Peter, there is one thing that you can do for me. 
I want a playmate more than anything else in the world. 
When my door shuts, I am all alone until it is time to go 
out and call cuckoo again.” 

Peter felt very sorry for Cuckoo. He looked so forlorn 
with his head hanging on his breast and his feathers droop¬ 
ing. 


45 


He rested his elbows on the knees of his overalls and 
held his chin in his chubby hands. He thought and 
thought. 

Yes, it must be a lonely life for Cuckoo. 

Peter thought of Gretchen and Eric and Hansie and Fa¬ 
ther and Mother and Grandpa. What would he do without 
them? 

But how could he find a playmate for Cuckoo? 

He could not think of any way. Cuckoo would have to 
go on living alone for years and years. 

Cuckoo shook his head. His feathers drooped more and 
more. 

“Come, Peter, have a fresh biscuit—” 

Peter opened his blue eyes. There was Hansie shooting 
his marbles across the floor with his two front paws. 

Mother Herman lifted a pan of biscuits from the oven. 

Peter took a hot biscuit from the pan. “Thank you, 
Mother,” he said. Then he looked up on the wall. 

Cuckoo clock was there. He could hear it—tick, tick, 
tick! 

The door of the little house was closed and no one 
would ever guess that Peter had been inside. Neither 
would any one ever guess that Peter had been sound 


asleep. 




O NE more feather bed, son, and we are through,” 
said Mrs. Herman cheerfully. 

Peter was puffing and blowing. He was help¬ 
ing his mother put the pink feather beds in the sun for an 
airing. 

“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!” Gretchen whistled through her 
fingers. She was waiting at the gate of the yellow house 
with the green shutters. 

Peter nearly fell downstairs in his hurry. 

“Gretchen, we must run to the Little Goose Man!” he 
whispered, pulling her along. 

“What for?” asked Gretchen. 

“Come on,” said Peter. And away they ran. 


47 










Now the Little Goose Man has whiskers and a saucy 
cap on his head. And he is very, very old. But under his 
right arm is a fat goose with his bill wide open. Out of 
his bill pours fresh cold water. Under his left arm is also a 
fat goose with his bill wide open. Out of that bill also 
pours fresh cold water. So they call him the Little Goose 
Man Fountain. 

Peter and Gretchen always ran to the Little Goose Man 
Fountain when they wanted to talk about something very, 
very important. For neither Little Goose Man nor his fat 
geese ever told anyone a word of what they heard. 

“What has happened, Peter?” asked Gretchen when 
they were sitting on the cobblestones beside Little Goose 
Man Fountain. 

“Cuckoo is very lonely, Gretchen. He told me so yes¬ 
terday.” 

“Peter! That is like a fairy tale!” cried Gretchen. 

“Well, wouldn’t you be lonely if you had no one to play 
with?” Peter asked. Then he told her the whole story. 

Gretchen listened quietly to every word that Peter said. 

“Now how can we find Cuckoo Bird a playmate?” The 
brown feather in the back of Peter’s green hat waved this 
way and that way as he shook his head. 

“Peter Herman! I have it!” shouted Gretchen, pulling 
Peter up from the cobblestones. “Let’s run to see Grandpa. 
He will help us.” 

“So he will! So he will!” cried Peter. “Come on!” 

Gretchen took a drink from the bill of the fat goose un¬ 
der the right arm of Little Goose Man. Peter took a drink 
from the bill of the fat goose under the left arm of Little 
Goose Man. 

“Good-bye, Little Goose Man; good-bye, fat geese,” 
they called, running as fast as their legs couldi go. 



“Grandpa,” they shouted. There he was sitting on the 
porch of his house on the bridge. 

“Bless my soul,” laughed Grandpa. “What do you two 
want now? Come into my workshop.” 

Here for years and years Grandpa Herman had worked 
with his thin little knife and his fat little hammer. He 
made animals out of wood. And birds and fish. And boys 
and girls. And men and women. And houses for cuckoo 
birds to live in. And all the people who lived in the old 
town of Nuremberg called him “Henry Herman, the Wood 
Carver.” 

Peter climbed on top of a barrel and threw his green 
hat with the brown feather on a pile of shavings. 

Gretchen sat on the window sill. If she wanted to, she 
could watch the ducks paddling down the river. 

Grandpa sat in his shabby old arm chair. 

Peter knew that it was time to begin. 

“Grandpa,” he burst out. “we want you to do something 
for us. This morning, if you can.” 

“Well,” said Grandpa, puffing away at his pipe with 
the long curved stem, “I will have to know what you want 
before I can make any promises.” 

“Please, Grandpa, if you can,” begged Gretchen. “Tell 
him every bit, Peter.” 

So Peter did. 

“Why of course Cuckoo must have a playmate,” Grand¬ 
pa Herman said when Peter had finished his story. 

He walked over to the shelves on his wall. They were 
filled with little wooden creatures. “Will Nimble Toe do?” 
he asked, holding out a brown squirrel who looked as if he 
could run along the limb of a tree. 

“Oh no, Nimble Toe will never do,” said Peter. “He 
would eat all Cuckoo Bird’s seeds. Then he would starve.” 



50 




































































































































Grandpa Herman put Nimble Toe back on the shelf. 

Will Yellow Bill do?” he asked, holding out a plump 
wooden duck, who looked as if he could paddle in the river. 

He is a good duck,” said Gretchen, turning him over. 

“Yes, Yellow Bill is a good duck,” said Peter. “But 
Cuckoo Bird has no water in his house on the wall. He 
could not make a pond for Yellow Bill.” 

Grandpa Herman put Yellow Bill back on the shelf. 

“Will Kip do?” he asked, holding out a tall stork with 
long legs and a long beak. 

“What a pretty stork!” cried Gretchen, stroking his 
carved back. “Will he do, Peter?” 

Peter shook his head. “Kip would stay on the roof of 
Cuckoo’s little brown house. Cuckoo Bird would be all 
alone inside. No, we want a playmate for Cuckoo.” 

Grandpa Herman put Kip back on the shelf. 

“Well, here is Oscar, a Tyrol mountain boy,” he said. 
“He looks as if he could play with anybody.” 

“Grandpa! You never showed us Oscar!” 

Oscar smiled from ear to ear. On his head was a round 
hat with a feather sticking up in back. A knapsack hung 
over his shoulder. In his hand was a staff. 

“I would like to have Oscar climb a mountain with me, 
Grandpa,” laughed Gretchen. “But he would not be happy 
in Cuckoo’s little house. He wants to be out of doors.” 

Grandpa Herman put Oscar back on the shelf. 

He looked at his wall. Five cuckoo clocks hung in a row. 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

Five little brown cuckoo birds stood at five little brown 
doors in five little brown houses on the wall. 


“Oh, Grandpa, the little brown one in the middle. Give 
him to us for Cuckoo Bird,” cried Gretchen. 

“Oh, please, Grandpa,” begged Peter. 

Then five little brown birds stepped inside of five little 
brown doors in five little brown houses. 

But quicker than it takes to tell it, the little middle 
brown bird with his head on one side was first in Gret- 
chen’s hand, and then in Peter’s hand, on his way to his 
new home. 

Down the bridge they walked, with Peter on one side, 
Gretchen on the other side, and Grandpa in the middle. 

Soon they reached Peter’s yellow house with the green 
shutters. 

“Good morning, Grandpa,” called Mrs. Herman. 

“Meouw! Meouw!” cried Hansie who was sitting on 
top of the gate post. 

Peter put the little cuckoo bird beside him. 

He sniffed it all over from the tip of its brown wooden 
beak to the end of its brown wooden tail. 

“Mew!” he cried sharply, walking away with his head 
in the air and waving his long black tail. 

“Mew!” he cried sharply again as if to say: “So this is 
what kept you away from home all morning!” 

That evening Peter was on his father’s lap listening to a 
story. The little brown door of the little brown house on 
the wall flew open. Two little brown cuckoo birds stood 
side by side. 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

But Peter heard: 

“Thank you Peter, thank you Gretchen. Good Peter 
and good Gretchen!” 





HANSIE’S FIRST SWIMMING LESSON 

I T was early in the morning. Grandpa and the children 
were leaving the Nuremberg railroad station. They had 
just waved good-bye to some friends who went away 
on the train. 

“Oh, I wish we could go somewhere,” sighed Gretchen. 
“Oh, Grandpa, could we go somewhere?” begged Peter. 
Grandpa looked up at the sky. 

“It’s blue,” he said thoughtfully. 

“It’s sunny,” added Peter hopefully. 

“The flowers are beginning to grow,” finished Gretchen 
wisely. 

“So they are,” decided Grandpa. “Let’s go to the fir 
woods!” 

So Mrs. Herman hurried about. And Mrs. Muller hur¬ 
ried about. Then Eric got in everybody’s way. 

At last Peter and Gretchen were ready. 

Dan, the frisky black horse, was waiting in front of Pe¬ 
ter’s house. He pawed the ground impatiently. “Neigh!” 
he called. “Hurry up!” 

He was hitched to the mountain wagon. It was bright 


53 


with fresh green paint. In it were two benches for seats. 
One was on one side. One was on the other side. 

“Peter!” called Mrs. Herman. 

“I can’t catch Hansie,” Peter answered, panting. 

Hansie ran under the bushes. Then up the gatepost. 
Then into the barrel. 

He liked the grass and the sunshine. He did not like the 
basket in Peter’s hand. It had a cover that fastened. 

“Peter,” called Mrs. Herman again. 

“Neigh,” called Dan, pawing the ground. 

“Hurry up,” called Grandpa who was holding the reins. 

Hansie knew what was best. If he did not jump into 
the basket that minute, he would be left at home. So in 
he jumped. Peter fastened the cover. 

Then Grandpa and Gretchen and Peter and Hansie 
started for the fir woods. 

“Jingle! Jingle! Ting-ling-ling!” sang the bells on Dan’s 
harness. The red tassels bobbed up and down. His thick 
black mane and long black tail waved in the breeze. 

Up, up, they climbed, higher and higher. The sky was 
very blue. The sun was very warm. The fir trees smelled 
very sweet. Along the road grew little flowers, red, yellow, 
white, and blue. 

“See the white goat!” called Gretchen, pointing to a rock 
by the side of the road. 

“There’s another,” called Peter, pointing to a grassy 
knoll. 

“B-a-a-a! Ba-a-a!” One by one the little white goats 
stepped out. Soon there were many little white goats. 

A sunburned girl was watching the little white goats. 
“Good day!” she called merrily, tossing her head. A pink 
kerchief covered her flaxen hair. A long yellow apron al¬ 
most hid her bare brown toes. 



55 




“Will you sell us some warm goat’s milk?” asked Grand 
pa. 

“Yes, kind sir, and gladly,” answered the sunburned 
goat girl. 

So Grandpa bought some warm goat’s milk for lunch. 

Farther up the hill they rode. 

“Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!” 

A flock of brown chickens flapped their wings as the 
green wagon rode along. 

There stood a young woman beside her barn. “Good 
day,” she called politely as she churned and churned her 
butter. 

“Will you sell us some fresh butter and eggs?” asked 
Grandpa. 

“Yes, kind sir, and gladly,” answered the young woman. 

So Grandpa bought some fresh butter and eggs for their 
lunch. 

Farther up the hill they rode. 

“A-a-ah! I smell something good,” said Gretchen, snif¬ 
fing the air. 

“A-a-ah! So do I,” added Peter, sniffing the air. 

“It is bread, warm from the oven,” said Grandpa, step¬ 
ping out of the green wagon. 

An old lady stuck her head out of her kitchen window. 

“Good day!” she called in a high squeaky voice. 

“Will you sell us some bread, warm from the oven?” 
asked Grandpa. 

“Yes, kind sir, and gladly,” answered the old lady. 

So Grandpa bought some bread, warm from the oven, for 
their lunch. 

Farther up they rode and stopped in the fir woods. 

“Goody! Goody!” they cried when they drank the warm 
goat’s milk. 




“Goody! Goody!” they cried when they tasted the fresh 
eggs. 

“Goody! Goody!” they cried when they took a bite of 
warm bread spread with fresh butter. 

“Purr! Purr!” said Hansie. Faster and faster his pink 
tongue lapped that warm goat’s milk. “Goodness knows 
when I will get another drop of milk,” he seemed to say. 

Grandpa sat on the ground, soft with the needles of the 
fir trees. He smoked his pipe with the long curved stem. 

The children and Hansie ran down to the meadow. A 
low narrow bridge led over the rushing river. 

They walked to the middle of the bridge. Hansie 
crouched lower and lower on the bridge. He stared at the 
tiny shiny silvery fish. They were swimming under his 
very nose. 

“Crack!” His paw splashed the water! He shot through 
the air! Plump! He was in the cold water and he did not 
like it one bit. 

“With black paws struggling and nose sniffing, he tried 
to swim. It was his first lesson. He finally reached a raft 
by the side of the bank. 

Soaking wet, the little black cat shivered on the raft. 
He was too ashamed to move. 

“Quick!” shouted Gretchen. 

“Run!” shouted Peter. 

They both jumped upon the raft. 

“Poor Hansie,” they said, stroking the drops from his 
wet, stiff fur. 

“Peter!” suddenly cried Gretchen. It was too late. The 
raft was moving. They were floating down the river. 

“I thought it was stuck in the mud,” said Peter. 

“So did I,” answered Gretchen. 

“Well, it is good and strong,” added Peter. 


57 


“As strong as RED WING and larger,” finished 
Gretehen. 

They sat very still. Hansie snuggled between them. He 
was drying off. “Purr!” he said. “This bath and sail are 
new to me.” 

The raft rocked gently up and down. Now it drifted to 
the bank on the right side. Then it floated to the bank on 
the left side. Finally the tide pulled it straight down the 
middle of the stream. 

“Look, Gretehen!” Peter pointed to a bed of cat-o-nine- 
tails. 

“Goody! I’m so glad,” cried Gretehen. “We picked cat- 
o-nine-tails there last year.” 

“And dried them to make a seat for Grandpa’s arm 
chair,” finished Peter. 

Gretehen clapped her hands. “We are running into 
them!” she shouted. 

The raft rocked into the cat-o-nine-tail marsh. The 
children grasped the thick strong stems. 

“Hallo-o-o-o!” It was Grandpa’s voice. 

“Hallo-o-o-o!” The children answered. 

There was Grandpa himself on the bank! 

Gretehen felt like crying. So did Peter. They were so 
glad. 

“Sit still,” he ordered sharply. 

Then he waded into the water. He took hold of the raft. 
The water was up to his arms. He was soaking wet. 

“Hansie jumped in after the fish,” shouted Peter. 

“He swam to the raft and we went after him,” explained 
Gretehen. 

“Then the raft began to move,” finished Peter. 

“Hop off,” said Grandpa, when the raft touched the 
bank. 


58 


“Look at my shoes and stockings,” said Gretchen. 

“Look at mine,” said Peter. 

Four wet and muddy stockings. 

Four wet and muddy shoes. 

“Let’s go barefoot,” said Gretchen. 

“Let’s,” said Peter. 

So they did. They tied their shoes and stockings around 
their necks. 

Hansie was now dry from the tip of his nose to the end 
of his long black tail. 

“Two young sailors and a kitten!” exclaimed Grandpa, 
shaking his head. “I saw the raft was missing. Then I 
hunted hard.” 

The green painted wagon stood nearby. Dan was paw¬ 
ing in the meadow impatiently. So they started back to 
Nuremberg with Hansie in the basket and the lid fastened 
down. 



59 


A CAT FOR SALE 


G RETCHEN,” called Peter, over the fence, “Come 
over this minute. 

“What for?” asked Gretchen. 

“Come!” Peter’s voice was sharp. 

“Well, here I am,” said Gretchen, out of breath. 
“Grandpa is very sick,” Peter said. 

“What? Grandpa?” exclaimed Gretchen in astonish¬ 
ment. 

Peter nodded his head. It was hard to keep back the 
tears. 

“It’s our fault,Gretchen,” he finally said. 

“Oh, Peter! How?” asked Gretchen, in a shaky voice. 
“He caught cold. It was from getting wet in the cat-o- 
nine-tail marsh. Mother says so.” 

“Oh, Peter!” Two big tears rolled down the side of Gret- 
chen’s nose. “Then we must make him well,” she said. 
“What has he got?” 

“Rheumatism,” answered Peter. 

“Rheumatism! Does it hurt?” asked Gretchen. 




w 


“Oh, yes. It hurts so much that he cannot stand on his 
feet,” Peter added. 

“Oh, Peter! We must hurry and do something. Let’s ask 
your mother.” The children ran into the kitchen. 

“Mrs. Herman, what can we do to make Grandpa well?” 
asked Gretchen. 

Mrs. Herman was stirring the chicken soup for Grand¬ 
pa. 

“Just now you can peel those oranges,” said Mrs. Her¬ 
man. “I am making orange juice for him.” 

The children began to peel the oranges with all their 
might. 

“If only our old friend, Doctor Krinken, could come,” 
added Mrs. Herman. “He would make Grandpa well.” 

“Why can’t Doctor Krinken come?” asked Gretchen. 

“He lives in Munich,” answered Mrs. Herman. “We can¬ 
not afford to have him.” 

Gretchen and Peter finished peeling the oranges and 
ran outdoors. 

“We must get Doctor Krinken, Peter,” said Gretchen. 

“Yes,” answered Peter, “we must. How much money 
have you in your bank?” 

“Only ten cents,” answered Gretchen sadly. “How 
much have you? ” 

“Only five cents,” said Peter. “We haven’t enough.” 

“How much will it take?” asked Gretchen. 

“Five dollars anyway,” answered Peter hopelessly. 

“Have we anything to sell?” asked Gretchen. 

Peter shook his head. Just then Hansie ran across the 
grass and up the pear tree. 

The children looked at Hansie, then at each other. 

Peter kicked the pebbles with his foot. 

Gretchen swung her sunbonnet back and forth by its 


61 


strings. “He likes to ride in my bonnet,” she finally said. 

“We might give him a ride to the market place,” said 
Peter, without looking up. 

Slowly and silently they picked their way over the 
cobbles. “Purr! Purr!” said Hansie in the sunbonnet hang¬ 
ing on Gretchen’s arm. He liked to swing and swing. Ev¬ 
ery once in a while he peeped out between the strings of the 
bonnet to see what was going on. 

“We have to choose,” said Gretchen finally. “Your 
mother said Doctor Krinken would make Grandpa well.” 

“Yes, we have to choose,” agreed Peter, “but I wish we 
had something else to sell.” 

“So do I,” sighed Gretchen. 

Hansie suddenly stuck his shiny black head deep in the 
sunbonnet as if he did not want to hear another word. 

They were in the market place. All the old women were 
sitting under their big umbrellas. They were selling car¬ 
rots, flowers and wooden bowls. 

One old woman was sitting on the church steps making 
little bouquets of her flowers. She had sold them all to a 
woman who was giving a party. 

“May we sit under your umbrella?” asked Peter. “We 
have a little black cat to sell.” 

“What! A little black cat to sell!” the old woman an¬ 
swered in a surprised voice. “Yes, yes, do sit under my 
umbrella.” 

“Grandpa Herman has rheumatism,” Peter added, un¬ 
certainly. 

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” exclaimed the old woman. 

Gretchen gathered sunbonnet, little black cat and all 
in her arms. 

“Hansie,” she whispered in his ear, “little Hansie, we do 
love you. But it’s for Grandpa.” 



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They sat on the cobbles under the big umbrella with 
Hansie curled up on the sunbonnet between them. 

Peter bent over the little cat and stroked him from the 
tip of his nose to the end of his long black tail. “We don’t 
want to do it, Hansie,” he said softly,“ we don’t want to do 
it!” 

“Purr! Purr!” answered Hansie as if to say, “I under¬ 
stand. It was my fault anyway.” 

The scissors grinder came along, pushing his grinder on 
wheels. 

“Want to buy a little black cat?” asked Gretchen, in a 
low voice. 

“How much does he cost?” asked the scissors grinder. 

“Five dollars,” answered Gretchen, in a lower voice, 
patting Hansie gently. 

“Oh, that is too much,” said the scissors grinder, walk¬ 
ing on. 

“He doesn’t want him,” said Peter, almost shouting and 
giving Hansie a hard squeeze. 

Two tears rolled down Gretchen’s nose. 

“You do it next, Peter,” she said. 

The lollypop man came along, carrying his basket of 
lollypops. 

“Want to buy a little black cat?” asked Peter in a low 
voice. 

“How much does he cost?” asked the lollypop man. 

“Five dollars,” answered Peter, in a lower voice, pat¬ 
ting Hansie gently. 

“Oh, that is too much,” said the lollypop man, walking 
on. 

“He doesn’t want him,” said Gretchen, almost shout¬ 
ing, and giving Hansie a hard squeeze. 

Two tears rolled down Peter’s nose. 


“You do it next, Gretchen,” he said. 

“Let’s both do it together,” she answered. 

Herr Stahl, the owner of the big toy factory, came 
along. 

“Want to buy a little black cat?” asked Gretchen and 
Peter together, in low voices. 

“How much does he cost?” asked Herr Stahl. 

“Five dollars,” answered Peter and Gretchen, in lower 
voices. 

“I need a cat to catch the mice in my toy factory,” an¬ 
swered Herr Stahl. “But this is Hansie!” he added in sur¬ 
prise. “Why are you selling him?” 

“Because Grandpa has rheumatism,” they answered. 

“What! My old friend, Henry Herman, the Wood Carv¬ 
er?” asked Herr Stahl. 

The children nodded. 

“I am very sorry to hear it,” Herr Stahl said. “Yes, I 
will buy Hansie. Here is five dollars,” and he put five 
dollars in Gretchen’s apron. 

Peter had only time to pat Hansie’s head while Gret¬ 
chen smoothed the tip of his long black tail. Herr Stahl 
picked him up in his big strong arms and walked away 
with long strides. 

“Ding— Dong—Ding—Dong! 

Ding—Dong—Ding—Dong! 

Ding—Dong—Ding—Dong! ” 

Twelve o’clock! Time for the wooden men to march 
out of the church tower! 

But Gretchen and Peter did not even look. They ran 
out of the market place as fast as their legs could go. 


65 


RIDING ON THE TRAIN 


T HE conductor was walking up and down at the Nu¬ 
remberg railroad station. His green leather bag hung 
over his shoulder. He was calling, “All aboard for 
Munich! All aboard for Munich!” 

Peter and Gretchen, out of breath, scrambled up into 
one of the little railway carriages. The door slammed 
shut. The train started. 

“Tickets!” called the conductor. “Bless my soul!” he 
added. “Peter Herman and Gretchen Muller! What are 
you two doing here?” 

“Dear me!” said Gretchen. “We have no tickets.” 
“Dear me!” added Peter. 

“Where are you two going?” asked the conductor. 

“To Munich,” answered the children. 

“Alone?” asked the conductor. 

“Yes sir,” they answered. 

“We have to get Doctor Krinken for Grandpa,” Peter 
burst out. 




“Doctor Krinken of Munich?” repeated the conductor. 
“Is your grandpa sick?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Gretchen. “He has rheumatism.” 

“What! My friend, Henry Herman, sick with rheuma¬ 
tism!” he exclaimed. 

The children nodded. Then the conductor sat down on 
the seat beside them. They told him the whole story. 

“Well, Peter, I’ll telephone your mother at the next sta¬ 
tion,” the conductor said, going on to another carriage. 

Faster and faster the train went through the valley. 

Toot! Toot! blew the whistle for the crossings. 

Gretchen took off her sunbonnet and hung it on a peg. 
Peter put his green hat with the brown feather sticking up 
in back on the rack over his head. 

In the pocket of his blue knickers with the brass but¬ 
tons on the tip of each knee were the five dollars. 

Gretchen looked out of the window on her side of the 
carriage. Peter looked out of the window on his side. 

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” 

They both sat up straight. 

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” they heard again. 

A brown bag under the seat opposite began to move. 

The children stared at the brown bag, their eyes round 
with surprise. 

Peter nudged Gretchen. “It’s louder and louder,” he 
whispered. 

Bump! Bump! Bump! The brown bag thumped the 
floor. 

“What is it?” whispered Gretchen. “It can’t be a dog.” 

Peter leaned far over the edge of his seat, staring at the 
brown bag. 

Toot! Toot! sounded the whistle as the train went 
around a sharp curve. 


67 


Thump! Peter shot off the seat and fell on the bag. 

“Ou-e-e-e! Ou-e-e-e!” 

“It’s a pig! It’s a pig!” shouted the astonished Peter, 
picking himself up. 

Gretchen jumped off the black cushion seat. 

“It must be a baby pig,” she cried. “Let’s peek!” 

They tugged away at the string tied round the bag. 

“Oh, Peter! He’s white in the middle,” said Gretchen. 

“And his tail and hind feet are black,” added Peter. 

“His head and front feet are black, too,” finished Gret¬ 
chen. “What a funny pig!” 

“Ugh! Ugh!” The baby pig squinted his eyes and wig¬ 
gled his nose as he walked out of the bag. Then he planted 
his four feet firmly on the floor of the rocking train. 

Toot! Toot! The train slowed up, pulling into a big rail¬ 
way station. 

The door of the carriage suddenly opened. There stood 
a big farmer boy in blue overalls. He had been chatting 
with a friend in another carriage. 

“My pig!” he shouted, tossing his red head as he tried 
to catch the slippery baby pig. 

“Ugh! Ugh!” said the baby pig, squeezing past him out 
of the door. 

Then the baby pig ran down the station platform as 
fast as his four black legs could carry him. 

The farmer boy chased him, his blue overalls flapping. 

“Catch my pig! Catch my pig!” he shouted. 

Peter and Gretchen stood at the door to watch. 

The baby pig was soon lost in the crowd. 

“I have him!” they heard someone cry. Sure enough, 
the paper man had stopped the baby pig. 

All the people on the station platform were laughing. 

The big farmer boy walked back with the baby pig in 


his arms. He scowled at Peter and Gretchen. Then he went 
into another carriage, and slammed the door. 

The train went on. Gretchen looked out of the window 
on her side. Peter looked out of the window on his side. 

Toot! Toot! They were stopping at another station. 

“Tonic! Tonic!” called the soda-water girl, popping her 
head in the window. 

“Have one?” she invited Gretchen and Peter. “A straw 
in each bottle!” 

“I’m so thirsty, Peter,” said Gretchen. 

“So am I,” said Peter. 

“What kind will you have?” smiled the soda-water girl. 

“I’ll take lemon,” said Gretchen. 

“I’ll take root beer,” said Peter. 

“Five cents each,” she added, handing Gretchen a lem¬ 
onade and Peter a root beer. 

“Dear me,” said Peter. “I have only the five dollars,” 
digging into the pocket of his blue knickers with the three 
brass buttons on the tip of each knee. 

“Here is the change,” answered the soda-water girl, 
handing him four dollars and ninety cents. Then she went 
on to the next carriage calling, “Tonic! Tonic!” 

“Ah! Um!” Gretchen and Peter sucked their straws and 
stared out of the window. The people were walking about. 

Just before the train started, a pretty peasant girl came 
into their carriage. She had a green kerchief over her blond 
braids. It was tied in a knot behind her left ear. In the 
knot were yellow flowers. 

A peasant boy stood beside their carriage window. He 
took off his hat. It was like Peter’s, only it was brown 
with a green feather sticking up in back. 

The peasant girl laughed and showed her pretty dim¬ 
ples and even white teeth. When she waved good-bye to 


the peasant boy, all the beads around her neck and all the 
bracelets on her arm danced up and down. 

Gretchen stared at the beads. Five strings! Red, yellow, 
green, blue and pink! Then she stared at the bracelets. Six 
shiny silver bracelets on one arm! 

The peasant girl put her basket of apples on the rack 
over her head. Then she put her carpet bag with the red 
roses on it under her seat. 

“Hello,” she said. “What are your names? Are you trav¬ 
elling alone?” 

“Yes.” The children answered the last question first. 

“I am Gretchen Muller,” said Gretchen. 

“I am Peter Herman,” said Peter. 

Just then the train went over a rough spot. Bump! An 
apple shot down from the basket on the rack and dropped 
on top of Gretchen’s head. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the children. 

“That is for you,” laughed the pretty peasant girl. “Here 
is one for Peter.” Then she stood on the black cushion seat 
and took an apple out of her basket on the rack. 

So Peter ate his apple and looked out of the window on 
his side. And Gretchen ate her apple and looked out of the 
window on her side. 

The train was going through fields near little houses. 

Suddenly a black cat ran across a yard. 

“Oh, Peter,” said Gretchen. 

“What is the matter?” asked Peter. 

“I saw a black cat run across a yard,” answered Gret¬ 
chen. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Peter was very sad. He kicked his heels against the 
black cushion seat. 

“Why, what is the trouble?” asked the peasant girl. 

Peter began the story. Gretchen finished the story. 


70 







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“Catch my pig!” he shouted. 



71 











































































“You poor children/’ said the pretty peasant girl. Then 
she opened her carpet bag with the red roses on it. 

“Here, Gretchen,” she said, giving her a big black shiny 
sausage and a bun with caraway seeds in it. 

“Oh, thank you,” said Gretchen, grinning happily. 

“Here, Peter,” said the pretty peasant girl, giving him 
a big black shiny sausage and a bun with caraway seeds 
in it. 

“Oh, thank you,” said Peter, grinning happily. 

On the train went. Down into valleys, up over hills, by 
rivers and lakes, through forests and orchards, near farms 
and barns, and on and on and on— 

There were Gretchen and Peter both curled up sound 
asleep on the black cushion seat! 

“Here we are!” called the conductor in a loud voice. 

The children sat up and rubbed their eyes. There it 
was! The big Munich railroad station! 

They had only time to wave good-bye to the pretty 
peasant girl. Then they were riding over the cobbles in a 
low carriage with a horse and driver. The conductor sat in 
the middle with Gretchen on one side and Peter on the 
other side. People hurried along. Trolley cars passed by. 

Soon they came to a big stone house. The conductor 
rang the bell. They all went inside. Then the conductor 
left them and went to his own home and his own two boys. 

“Welcome, Peter and Gretchen,” said jolly Doctor 
Krinken, shaking their hands heartily. “So my old friend, 
Henry Herman, the Wood Carver, has rheumatism!” 

“Here are the five dollars,” said Peter, digging the money 
out of the pocket of his blue knickers with the three brass 
buttons on the tip of each knee. 

“The five dollars?” asked Doctor Krinken in surprise. 

“Well, almost,” said Peter. “Four dollars and ninety 


72 


cents. We spent ten cents for tonic. Mother said they could 
not afford to send for you.” 

‘But she said you could make Grandpa well. So we came 
for you,” added Gretchen. 

“It’s really ours to give you,” Peter explained. “We sold 
our little black cat Hansie,” he finished softly. Gretchen 
took tight hold of his hand. 

“Thank you,” said Doctor Krinken, putting the four 
dollars and ninety cents in his pocket. “We will go to 
Nuremberg in my big automobile tomorrow.” 

“Come in, dear children,” called Mrs. Krinken, leading 
them into the dining room. While they ate a warm sup¬ 
per from pretty blue dishes on a red and white checked 
table cloth, they told kind Mrs. Krinken and jolly Doctor 
Krinken the whole story. 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

Gretchen and Peter looked up. There on the wall was 
a cuckoo clock just like the one in Peter’s kitchen. Only 
this cuckoo bird did not have a playmate. He was all alone. 

“Your Grandpa Herman made that cuckoo clock for 
us,” said Mrs. Krinken in her soft voice. 

“It is the finest one in Munich,” added the Doctor. 

“Let’s see how quickly we can get to bed,” said Mrs. 
Krinken. “You have to start early in the morning.” 

So they all hurried upstairs. There was a little room for 
Peter with a bed that was made for a boy just his size. Next 
to Peter’s room was a little room for Gretchen with a bed 
that was made for a girl just her size. Mrs. Krinken tucked 
Gretchen under her pink feather bed. Doctor Krinken 
tucked Peter under his blue feather bed. As soon as their 
heads touched the pillows, they were both sound asleep. 


A BIG SURPRISE 



G OOD morning, Mrs. Muller,” called Mrs. Herman, 
pushing her pink feather beds out of the window for 
an airing. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Herman,” answered Mrs. Muller, 
pushing her green feather beds out of the window for an 
airing. “I hope Grandpa Herman is better today.” 

“Much better, thank you,” answered Mrs. Herman. “The 
children are going to see him this morning.” 

“Oh! Is Doctor Krinken still here?” Mrs. Muller asked, 
poking her green feather beds. 

“No, he went home yesterday,” answered Mrs. Herman. 
“He could stay only two days.” 

“A very good doctor,” said Mrs. Muller, shaking her 
head. 

“Yes, Grandpa says he made him well,” smiled Mrs. 
Herman. 

“What will those children do next!” said Mrs. Muller. 
“We shall have to wait and see,” answered Mrs. Her¬ 
man. 

“Hurry up, Gretchen,” called Peter through the fence. 



* 



For there was Hansie on top of the gate post 


75 




























“Here I am,” shouted Gretchen, pulling on her sunbon- 
net as she ran. 

In no time they saw the little brown house on the bridge. 

“Grandpa!” they shouted, bursting into his workshop, 
and smothering him with hugs and kisses. 

“Well, my hearties,” exclaimed Grandpa, patting their 
heads, “sit down and tell me everything.” 

“Do they hurt?” asked Gretchen, touching the blanket 
that covered his feet. 

“Not much, now,” answered Grandpa. 

“What are they on the box for?” asked Peter. For 
Grandpa was in his easy chair. But his feet rested on a box. 

“Doctor Krinken’s orders!” answered Grandpa chuck¬ 
ling. “For three days I have to sit like a fallen log.” 

“Did Doctor Krinken really make you well?” asked 
Gretchen. 

“Doctor Peter and Doctor Gretchen made me well!” 
Grandpa sat up straight. “Because they brought Doctor 
Krinken.” 

Once more Grandpa was smothered with hugs and 
kisses. 

Then the children sat down and told him the story. 

“I told Hansie we did love him,” explained Gretchen. 

“And I told him we didn’t want to do it,” added Peter. 

“Well, well, children,” said Grandpa, puffing hard at his 
pipe with the long curved stem, “my friend, Herr Stahl, 
will be good to our little Hansie, black from the tip of his 
nose to the end of his tail. He will catch all the mice in the 
toy factory.” 

The children thought about Hansie all the way home. 

“Just in time for lunch,” called Mrs. Herman from the 
kitchen window of the yellow house with the green shutters. 

“Oh!” said Peter and Gretchen stopping quickly. 


For there was Hansie sitting on top of the gate post, 
waiting for them to come home. 

“Purr! Purr! Here I am,” he said and jumped into their 
arms. They squeezed him and kissed him and patted him 
and stroked him, all at once. 

“Hansie back!” Mrs. Herman rushed down the path. 
“You dear little cat,” she said, stroking his long black tail. 

“What! Hansie back!” called Mrs. Muller from next 
door. “Come, Eric,” she called and they both hurried over. 

“Hansie! Hansie!” cried Eric, dancing up and down. 

They were all late for lunch. 

“Cuckoo!” the little birds sang in the door of their 
wooden house on Peter’s kitchen wall. 

“Cuckoo sings, ‘Hello, Hansie’,” said Peter. 

“Little Hansie,” said Mrs. Herman, “we are glad you 
came to see us. But now Peter must take you back. Herr 
Stahl will be looking for you.” 

“Oh, Mother, can’t he stay?” begged Peter. 

“No, Peter, Hansie belongs to Herr Stahl. He came to 
visit us. Maybe he was homesick. But now you and Gret- 
chen must take him back.” 

The children walked over the cobbles with Hansie 
swinging in Gretchen’s sunbonnet. He seemed to know 
what was going on. He curled up in the bottom of that 
bonnet and did not stick his head out once. 

Herr Stahl’s big toy factory had eight floors. Peter and 
Gretchen walked to the front door and went to the desk 
marked “Information.” 

“Please tell us where Herr Stahl is,” Peter asked. 

“Herr Stahl!” The astonished clerk stared at the chil¬ 
dren over his horn-rimmed spectacles. 

“We have something that belongs to him,” Gretchen 
burst out. 


“Meouw! No, I don’t,” said Hansie, sticking his black 
head out between the bonnet strings. 

The astonished clerk pushed his horn-rimmed spec¬ 
tacles to the end of his nose. He stared at Hansie. 

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! The clerk pushed a button on the 
side of his desk. 

“Yes, sir!” A boy in a blue uniform with brass buttons 
stepped up. 

“Tell Herr Stahl that two children and a black cat are 
here to see him.” 

“Yes, sir!” The boy hurried away. 

Then he hurried hack. “This way,” he called, holding 
his head very stiff and very straight. 

The children walked behind him. Hansie peeked out 
between the sunbonnet strings. 

“Purr! Purr! Here I am again,” he said sadly. 

They stepped into the big factory elevator. 

The boy in the blue uniform pressed a button. 

Up they went! Higher, higher! Faster, faster! 

Hansie pulled his black head down into Gretchen’s 
sunbonnet. He did not want to see another thing. 

Suddenly they stopped! The door opened on the sixth 
floor. A sign on the wall said: “Dog Department.” 

“Oh! Look at the toy dogs!” exclaimed Gretchen. Big 
dogs and little dogs, black, white and brown, with long legs 
and short legs, with big tails and little tails, with curly 
hair and straight hair! Hundreds and hundreds of dogs! 

Peter patted the head of a black toy dog with short legs. 

“Bow-wow! Bow-wow! Bow-wow!” he cried and flap¬ 
ped his long ears. 

“Hansie!” called Gretchen. For the little black cat was 
so frightened that he jumped out of the sunbonnet. Then 
he shot across the floor. 








“Hansie!” cried Peter and Gretchen running after him. 
He did not stop but climbed up over the side of a barrel 
and dropped inside. 

“What is all this noise?” asked Herr Stahl striding across 
the floor. “What! My good Hansie back! Thank you, Peter 
and Gretchen. He has already caught five mice.” 

“Where are all the mice?” asked Peter. 

“Hiding in corners, and under shavings,” answered Herr 
Stahl. 

“How long will it take to catch them all?” asked Gret¬ 
chen. 

“Years and years,” answered Herr Stahl. “Is Grandpa 
better?” he asked. 

“Oh, much better, thank you,” answered Peter, grin¬ 
ning from ear to ear. 

“Fine,” answered Herr Stahl, hurrying back to work. 
“Make yourselves at home.” 

“Come on, Peter,” whispered Gretchen, putting on her 
sunbonnet. “I don’t want to stay.” 

“All right, come on,” whispered Peter. 




T HAT same night Peter sat on his father’s lap in the 
kitchen, beside the big blue china stove. He was list¬ 
ening to a story. 

Suddenly the two little birds stood at the door of their 
wooden house on the wall. 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

“Bedtime,” said Mr. Herman, winding the cuckoo clock. 
“Hansie! Hansie! Hansie!” the little birds seemed to 
sing to Peter. 

The next morning while he was eating pancakes from 
his pewter plate, he heard: “Meouw! Meouw!” Then 
scratch, scratch, scratch! 

Peter pulled open the front door in such a hurry that 
plump! down he went flat on his back on the floor. 

In rushed Hansie and ran right over his body. Peter felt 
a rough tongue on his cheek. Then he hugged the little cat. 

“You little rascal,” he whispered in his ear. “How many 
mice did you catch last night?” 

“Purr! Purr!” answered Hansie. “None at all.” 



“What!” said Mrs. Herman, coming in with hot pan¬ 
cakes. “Company for breakfast! Give Hansie some milk!” 

“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!” called Peter at the window, hold¬ 
ing up Hansie. “She sees you, you little black cat,” he said 
as he climbed up on his chair at the table. 

Gretchen came running down the path to the little yel¬ 
low house with the green shutters. 

“More company,” Peter called to Mother Herman. 
“Bring a plate for Gretchen.” 

“We can’t think about Hansie here,” said Gretchen, eat¬ 
ing her pancakes. “Let’s go to Goose Man Fountain.” 

“Let’s! As fast as we can,” answered Peter. 

So they did. And they took Hansie along. 

“There he is,” said Gretchen. 

“Hello,” Peter waved his hand to the little old man 
with the whiskers and the saucy cap. 

The fat geese under his arms invited Peter and Gret¬ 
chen to drink the cool water flowing from their open bills. 

So Gretchen took a drink from the bill of the fat goose 
under the right arm of the Little Goose Man. And Peter 
took a drink from the bill of the fat goose under the left 
arm of the Little Goose Man. 

“Now we can think,” said Gretchen, as they sat down 
on the sunny cobblestones beside Goose Man Fountain. 

The Little Old Goose Man seemed wiser and older than 
ever and the children knew that neither the Little Old 
Goose Man nor his fat geese would ever tell anyone a word 
of what they heard. 

“Purr! Purr!” said Hansie, curled up on the sunny cob¬ 
bles between Peter and Gretchen. 

“Mother says he belongs to Herr Stahl,” said Peter, 
throwing his green hat with the brown feather sticking up 
in back on the cobbles. 


Gretchen rested her head in her hands. Her brown hair 
shone in the sunshine like gold. She thought and thought. 

“Hansie belongs to Herr Stahl because he bought him,” 
she said between her hands. 

Then she thought and thought. 

“Meouw!” Hansie’s paw struck one of Gretchen’s brown 
braids, shining in the sunshine. 

“O-o-o-h!” laughed Gretchen, jumping up and squeez¬ 
ing the little black cat. “But you will belong to us if we 
buy you back.” 

“Buy Hansie back!” cried Peter, his eyes popping out 
of his head. “But we have no money.” 

“We can earn it,” said Gretchen. “Come along to Herr 
Stahl.” 

“Come on,” said Peter. 

“Good-bye, Little Goose Man, good-bye, fat geese,” 
they called, running as fast as their legs could go. 

At eleven o’clock that morning, Gretchen and Peter 
were sitting in Herr Stahl’s office in his toy factory. 

“Can you give us a job, Herr Stahl?” asked Peter. 

“A real one?” put in Gretchen. 

“How much will you charge a day?” asked Herr Stahl. 

Peter looked at Gretchen. 

Gretchen looked at Peter. 

“How many days will it take to earn five dollars?” 
asked Gretchen. 

“Working alone or together?” asked Herr Stahl. 

“Oh, together,” they cried. 

“Well!” Herr Stahl wrinkled his brows. He thought and 
thought. 

“We’ll work hard, Herr Stahl,” Gretchen burst out. 

“We won’t linger, Herr Stahl,” promised Peter. 

“Linger?” asked Herr Stahl in a surprised tone. 






“Mother says we linger sometimes,” explained Peter. 

“Well, let me see. You will work hard. You won’t linger. 
You will work together. Um!” Herr Stahl slapped his knee. 
“I have it. The big fair at Rothenburg is tomorrow,” he 
said. “I need someone to sell my toys. I’ll take you two 
along. But mind,” he added, “I can’t promise to pay five 
dollars. We will see how many toys you sell.” 

“Oh, Herr Stahl, thank you,” cried Gretchen. 

“And Herr Stahl,” asked Peter, twisting and untwisting 
his fingers, “you will sell Hansie back to us, won’t you?” 

“Hansie is no good to me if he won’t catch mice,” an¬ 
swered Herr Stahl. “He goes to visit you every day. How 
can he catch my mice?” 

The children could not answer. 

On their way out, they stopped at the information desk. 

Hansie sat there licking his black paws. 

“Oh, Hansie,” whispered Gretchen in his ear. “Soon! 



83 







COME BUY! 



C OME buy! Come buy! called Peter through his meg¬ 
aphone. 

“Come buy! Come buy!” called Gretchen, ringing 

her bell. 

“Oh, Gretchen, isn’t this fun?” Peter put his mega¬ 
phone on the counter. 

“Yes,” she laughed, all out of breath. “I’m so glad we 
came.” 

Ding! Dong! The bell rang on. 

“Sold anything?” asked Herr Stahl, striding up and 
down. 

“Not yet,” answered Peter. 

Suddenly Peter and Gretchen were very busy. Cus¬ 
tomers came to buy. They wrapped parcels in blue paper 
with pink string. 


84 











“Whoa! Whoa!” 

“Peter, look,” called Gretchen, her eyes wide with sur¬ 
prise. 

“Why, it’s a real clown!” exclaimed Peter, dropping a 
brown mouse in his excitement. 

“A pleasant fair to you, Herman and Muller. Have you 
a toy for me?” The clown took off his red hat and bowed 
to Peter and Gretchen. He balanced himself on one foot 
on the back of his white pony. 

“Hello, Mr. Clown,” shouted the children, staring at his 
white costume that looked like two balloons tied round his 
ankles. 

“What toy do you want?” asked Gretchen. 

“I’ll take a music box,” answered the clown, jumping to 
the other foot on the back of his white pony. 

“Music boxes cost two dollars,” said Peter. 

“What! Oh you funny boy!” The clown laughed until his 
sides shook. “I don’t want to buy one. Won’t you give me 
a toy to play with?” 

“We can’t,” answered Gretchen. “They aren’t ours. 

“What’s all the noise about?” Herr Stahl pushed his 
way into the crowd. 

“He wants a toy,” Peter spoke up. 

“Give him this one,” whispered Herr Stahl to Peter, 
pointing to a Jack-in-the-box. 

“Here you are,” called Peter, giving him a Jack. 

The clown opened the lid of the box. Up popped Jack 
with a big red nose, white whiskers and a high red hat. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed all the boys and girls who 
crowded around. 

Still standing on the back of his white pony, the clown 
pulled two yellow balls out of one sleeve. Then he pulled 
three green balls out of the other sleeve. Up they flew into 


85 


the air! Down they fell upon his nose, his hands, his red 
hat. Then up again he tossed them! They flew about like 
little birds. Down they came! He caught them, every one. 
Up and down, up and down! 

The children were dizzy with watching those dancing 
balls. They shouted. They jumped up and down. They 
clapped their hands until they smarted. 

The clown took off his red hat and bowed. “Now I have 
paid for my toy,” he smiled, showing his white teeth be¬ 
tween his red lips. 

“They ache,” said Gretchen, stopping a minute to 
stretch her arms. She had been wrapping parcels as fast 
as her hands could move. 

“They tingle,” put in Peter, blowing on his fingers, red 
from struggling with paper and string. 

“How’s business?” asked Herr Stahl, striding by with 
his hands in the pockets of his loose blue coat. 

“The clown brought us business,” answered Gretchen. 

“Good!” laughed Herr Stahl, counting the toys on the 
counter. 

“How much have we earned now?” asked Peter. 

“Only about a dollar,” answered Herr Stahl. 

“A dollar!” exclaimed Peter. 

“A dollar each?” asked Gretchen, hopefully. 

“Oh, no! You have only earned a dollar together,” an¬ 
swered Herr Stahl. 

“We’ll never earn enough, Peter,” Gretchen’s face was 
sober. 

“I know it.” Peter shook his head and sucked a finger, 
sore from the stiff string. “How do you count our time?” 
he asked. 

“For every toy you sell, you each earn five cents,” an¬ 
swered Herr Stahl. 
























































C OME!” Herr Stahl beckoned to the shop keepers. 
“Let us walk about the fair a bit.” 

“Goody!” cried Gretchen and Peter, skipping 

to his side. 

“There’s the merry-go-round!” said Peter. 

The music was growing louder and louder. The chil¬ 
dren could see the gay prancing horses, the sleepy camels 
and the sleighs of shiny gold. 

“Jump on!” Herr Stahl tossed two nickels to the man 
with a green sash around his waist and gold earrings in his 
ears. 

Clang! Clang! They were off! 

Round and round they swung! Faster and faster. 
Gretchen clung to a galloping black charger with a thick 




88 




mane and a long tail. Peter straddled a leaping lion with 
fiery eyes and bushy hair. 

“Oh, Gretchen,” whispered Peter. 

“Oh, Peter,” Gretchen whispered back. 

Then they both giggled. For they saw the cross farmer 
boy sitting in the gold sleigh in front of them. Under his 
arm was the baby pig. 

Clang! Clang! Slowly and more slowly they moved. At 
last the prancing charger and the leaping lion stood still. 
It was time to get off. 

“Hi!” called Herr Stahl who was sitting on a bench, “Is 
that pig for sale?” 

The farmer boy stopped. He saw Peter and Gretchen. 
He scowled and scowled. 

“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the baby pig. 

“Hello, little pig,” Peter and Gretchen smiled at him 
like old friends. 

“Yes, my pig is for sale.” The farmer boy scowled and 
scowled. 

“Oh, please do buy him, Herr Stahl,” begged Gretchen. 

“Oh, please do,” begged Peter, pulling Herr Stahl’s coat. 

“Why do you want me to buy the little pig?” asked 
Herr Stahl in surprise. 

Gretchen stared at the farmer boy. 

Peter stared at the farmer boy. 

The farmer boy scowled and scowled. 

“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the little pig. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed Gretchen and Peter together. 

“We found him,” said Gretchen. 

“What!” exclaimed Herr Stahl. 

“I fell on him,” said Peter. 

“What!” exclaimed Herr Stahl. 

Then they told him the whole story. 


pa 


“Dear me! Dear me!” exclaimed Herr Stahl. “How 
much do you want for him?” he asked the farmer boy. 

“Six dollars,” the farmer boy answered, scowling. 

“Here is the money,” said Herr Stahl. Then he took the 
baby pig in his own arms. 

“Oh, Herr Stahl! Oh, Herr Stahl!” Gretchen and Peter 
danced up and down. 

“This is a present for my good friend, Henry Herman, 
the Wood Carver,” said Herr Stahl. 

“Oh Peter,” whispered Gretchen, squeezing his hand. 

Peter grinned and grinned. 

Soon they were back at work. 

“Come buy! Come buy!” Peter was shouting in his 
megaphone. 

Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Gretchen was ringing her bell. 

“How much have we earned now?” asked Peter when 
Herr Stahl walked by. 

“Three dollars,” answered Herr Stahl. “Business is good. 
The baby pig is a help.” 

The children shook their heads. Only three dollars! 

“Whoa! Whoa!” 

“Oh Peter, here he is again!” laughed Gretchen, as Mr. 
Clown stepped up to the counter. “Now we will have cus¬ 
tomers.” 

And so they did. 

“Give me this.” 

“I’ll take that.” 

“Wrap up a basket of dishes.” 

“How much is the train?” 

Peter’s fingers flew. Gretchen’s fingers flew. Every pack¬ 
age was wrapped in blue paper and tied with pink string. 

“Time for lunch!” said Mr. Clown. “Hop up!” and the 
astonished Peter and Gretchen were lifted up on the pony. 


90 



In a row on the white pony's back. 


91 









“Don’t linger,” called Herr Stahl. 

“No, sir,” they shouted riding away in a row on the 
pony’s back. Peter sat in front, Gretchen sat in the middle, 
and Mr. Clown in the back. 

“Peter!” Gretchen shouted in Peter’s ear. “We’ve never 
had so much fun.” 

“I know it,” called Peter, looking straight ahead. 

Away they rode through the streets of the fair, calling 
on this side and that, “A pleasant fair to you!” 

They stopped at the sausage counter. There they 
climbed upon high stools. Mr. Clown sat in the middle, 
and held the white pony’s bridle. 

“Help yourselves,” he said, pointing to the platters of 
hot brown sausages and jolly little rolls. 

So they ate and ate the hot brown sausages and the jolly 
little rolls. 

“Did you have plenty?” asked Herr Stahl when they 
rode back to the toys. 

“Oh, plenty,” answered the children. 

Soon they were hard at work again, selling and wrap¬ 
ping, wrapping and selling. 

Finally Herr Stahl picked up Gretchen’s big bell. Ding 
Dong! Ding Dong! 

“Time to stop work!” he said. 

“How much have we earned?” the children asked 
breathlessly. 

“Five dollars,” answered Herr Stahl in his deep voice. 

“Oh, Peter!” Gretchen’s eyes were bright with tears. 

Peter threw his tired arms around her neck and hugged 
her tight. 


92 




HOW THEY TOOK THE PRESENT TO GRANDPA 


T HE next morning Peter was sound asleep between 
his two pink feather beds. 

“Meouw! Meouw!” 

He sat straight up in bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. 
But even with sleepy eyes he saw a little black figure 
on the foot of his green wooden bed. 

“Hansie,” he cried. 

Hansie, black from the tip of his nose to the end of his 
tail, jumped down on the pink feather bed. 

“Hansie, you are home to stay!” Peter hugged the little 
black cat tight. He felt a rough tongue on his cheek, and 
the tickle of black whiskers. 

Peter suddenly jumped out of bed with Hansie hugged 
tight in his arms. 

“Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!” he called out of his window, hold¬ 
ing up Hansie. “Yoo-hoo! You-hoo!” 

“Well! Well! What is going on so early in the morning?” 
asked Mrs. Herman, bustling in. 


93 


A few minutes later he was eating his pancakes from 
his pewter plate. Bang! The door opened. In ran Gretchen 
and fell on the floor beside Hansie. 

“We told you we’d get you back, you dear little Han¬ 
sie!” she cried all in one breath. 

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” 

“Hansie, listen to the cuckoo birds.” Peter put his hand 
under the little cat’s chin and turned his head toward the 
cuckoos. “They say: ‘Hansie’s back! Hansie’s back! To 
stay! To stay!’ ” 

“It’s nearly time to go to Grandpa’s,” said Gretchen. 
“Where’s Pepper?” 

“Come and peek,” whispered Peter. They tiptoed into 
the kitchen. There beside the stove, curled up in a box, 
was the baby pig, white in the middle with black head and 
front feet and black tail and hind feet. 

The children named him “Pepper and Salt.” They 
called him “Pepper” for short. 

“Let’s put him in Eric’s wagon,” said Gretchen. 

“Give my love to Grandpa,” called Mrs. Herman from 
the door of the yellow house with the green shutters. 

The children raced over the cobbles, pulling Pepper in 
Eric’s wagon. Hansie swung in Gretchen’s sunbonnet. This 
time his black head poked out between the bonnet strings. 
He wasn’t going to miss a thing. 

Into the market they ran. The old women were sitting 
under their umbrellas. They were selling cabbages, carrots 
and flowers. 

Gretchen swung her sunbonnet. “Hansie’s in here,” she 
called. “We bought him back.” 

Eric’s cart bumped over the bridge where the little 





95 

































































brown house was built. “Here we are,” shouted Peter as 
they burst into Grandpa’s workshop. 

Hansie jumped right from Gretchen’s sunbonnet to the 
blanket over Grandpa’s feet. 

“Oh, did he hurt your rheumatism?” the children cried. 

“No, no,” laughed Grandpa, holding him in his arms. 

“Here is a present from Herr Stahl,” chuckled the chil¬ 
dren, struggling with Pepper. Peter held the black head 
and front feet and Gretchen held the black tail and hind 
feet. They carried him to the top of a barrel. 

“Bless my heart,” said Grandpa Herman. 

“His name is Pepper and Salt,” said Peter. 

“But we call him Pepper for short,” said Gretchen. 

“Bless my heart,” said Grandpa Herman again. 

“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the baby pig. 

Then the children told him the whole story. 

“Welcome, Pepper,” laughed Grandpa. “You are just 
what I need. Now I can feed you my leftovers that I can¬ 
not give to the ducks. I’ll build you a pen by the river.” 

“Goody! Goody!” cried the children dancing up and 
down. “Grandpa Herman, you have not been out with us 
since-since-since-” 

“You got wet in the marsh,” finished Peter. 

Grandpa walked in the middle with his cane going tap 
tap tap, tap tap tap, on the bridge. 

Peter walked on one side pulling Pepper in Eric’s cart 
with the high basket sides. Gretchen walked on the other 
side carrying Hansie in her sunbonnet. 

Pepper pushed his nose between the reeds in the sides 
of Eric’s cart. “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” he said contentedly. 

Hansie stuck his head out between the strings of Gret¬ 
chen’s sunbonnet. “Purr! Purr! Purr!” he said loudlv “This 
is like old times.” 



































































































































































































LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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